Perception: Seeing Is Not Believing (Paperback)




Get the ultimate book on the science of our perceptions, why many of us grow up seeing a world further and further from the reality that others seem to be living in. Why do we sometimes not see ourselves like others see us? Find out. Excellent read.

Continue your journey of personal evolution with the NEW book that both explains the Powerful U movement, how it was started, and explains what Perception is and how it may be the most powerful force for change in our lives yet. Buy it Now and get ready to change your life!

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Perception: Seeing Is Not Believing (Paperback) Available Now!

  • Format: Paperback (Audio Audible version coming Jan 2020)
  • Regular Price: $18.95


The Modern Day Hero’s’ Journey – A Journey into Your Perception

Consider: If it is true that you have never made a bad decision, what would this mean to you and your life? To be clear, always doing the best you can on any given day is not the same as living up to your potential. The only reason most people attempt to change is when the fear of not changing becomes greater than the fear of changing.




Part I  Rock Bottom

Chapter 1  Personal Hell


The Crash: Playing the Endgame

Her boyfriend is in the bathroom getting ready for work. He looks up at the reflection in the mirror and sees his girlfriend sleeping in the bed. What he fails to realize is that she is only pretending to be asleep. He is still agonizing about the fight they had the previous week and he glares at her, debating whether or not to wake her up. He looks down at his watch and realizes that if he does, he will be late for work. He shakes his head and storms out of the house. She doesn’t move yet, but when she hears his car door open and close, and hears him pull out of the driveway, she jumps out of bed and runs to the window to make sure he really left. She waits a couple of minutes and starts packing up all her belongings. She looks down at the bruises on her body and says to herself, What an asshole. I am done letting men treat me this way. She packs up her car as fast as she can, jumps in, and speeds away. She feels a sense of desperate urgency in everything she is doing. Six hundred dollars. This is all the money she has to her name. She drives down the highway out of town and keeps going for several hours. The whole time she is berating herself and second guessing her decisions. The entire drive she thinks about all the other shitty men she has been with. She feels angry and betrayed. She thinks about the fact that her own dad abandoned her after her parents’ divorce, and that he doesn’t love her, either. She looks in the rearview mirror and says out loud, I hate you. She doesn’t believe there is anyone in the world who cares about her or who loves her. She feels totally alone.

After several hundred miles, she sees a small dusty desert town up ahead. She pulls off the highway and stops at a local store. She wanders the isles as a debate rages in her head. What am I going to do? Where am I going to go? She grabs several items and throws them into her cart. At the cash register she unloads some food, brand-new makeup, hair dye, and a large rope. She doesn’t make eye contact with the cashier, who is attempting to make small talk.

She drives to a nearby hotel and checks into a room. As she unloads her car, she starts berating herself again. Nobody loves you. You have no purpose here. Your life is never going to get better. She sits down on the hotel bed, dumps out the groceries, and begins pondering the purpose of her life. She picks up the hair dye kit, walks into the bathroom, mixes it all up, and sets it on the counter. She slumps back down on the bed and promptly falls asleep. The next morning, she wakes up, goes into the bathroom, and sees that the hair bleach has exploded all over the counter. She shakes her head, thinking, I can’t do anything right. She sits back down on the bed, and there she rests, for hours, ruminating about what to do.

Eventually she grabs a piece of paper and pen off the nightstand and draws a line down the middle of the page. On one side she writes, “Reasons to Live.” On the other side she writes, “Reasons to Die.” I feel so alone. I hate myself. My life sucks. My father abandoned me, which means I am unlovable. Nobody gives a shit about me or would miss me. Nobody is going to care or come to my funeral. It will be as if I never existed. I am so tired of feeling alone and unloved. Feeling agonizingly sad and depressed, she drops the pen and paper, picks up the rope, and walks into the bathroom. She is numb as she ties one end to the shower head and loops the other end around her neck. She turns on the water and lets it gush over her face. She drops, and the rope jerks tight around her neck. Darkness closes in and all awareness fades to black. She can feel herself dying, nothing but darkness.


The Crash: No Way Out


It’s a humid night and a man walks along the beach as he has done every night for the last few months. He looks down at his arms and sees fading track marks from his struggles with addiction, something he’s tried repeatedly to overcome. He is replaying the video over and over in his head about how bad his life has become. Just three months earlier, he was living out west, addicted to just about every drug imaginable. He passed bad checks to support his habit. Drug dealers were looking for him because he owed them money. He was wanted by the police because of all the fraudulent checks he had written. One detective in particular was hell-bent on seeing him pay dearly. A few months before, he had been sitting in a jail cell when the detective showed up and temporarily checked him out of jail into his custody. The cop told him, “I’m working the biggest case of my life and I need you to find somebody for me. You don’t know the guy, but he runs in your same drug circles.”

He promised the detective that he would do as requested. The detective strapped a tracker to the man and dropped him off at a drug house the man frequented. He walked through the front door, went out the back door, cut off the tracker, and fled the state. He knew he had to get out, otherwise he was going to die. The detective never saw him again. He made his way to South Carolina and showed up at the front door of a friend of his from high school. He said that he was in trouble and needed help. His friend took him in and helped him get sober. They rented a house together at the beach and the man began to rebuild his life. He changed his identity and tried to live normally. But the nightmare of his past would come flooding in during every walk he took on the beach after work. He would sit on the shoreline and imagine his inner demons swimming off into the ocean.

On this night he walks back to his house, feeling tired from working a double shift at a restaurant. He falls asleep, only to be awakened the next morning by a loud knocking on the door. He opens it and is confronted by a pair of federal marshals who are there to arrest him. He thanks his friend as he says good-bye: “I wouldn’t be alive without you. No matter what happens to me, I needed to recover before facing the consequences.” The friend gives him a hug and says, “I love you.”
And so begins the man’s long journey back to his home state on an airplane full of prisoners flying cross-country. When he arrives, a bus takes him to a jail and when the door opens, standing there waiting for him is a guard. “You’re a piece of shit,” says the guard. “We were going to catch you eventually. Let’s go.”

It is a long walk down the hallway, and every step of the way the guard keeps berating him. “You’re always going to be a piece-of-shit loser. You’ll die with a needle in your arm, or in a prison cell. Once a drug addict, always a drug addict.”

The man looks up and protests, “No, no. I’m clean!” The guard laughs and snaps, “Shut up, dumbass, I don’t give a fuck what you are. Because you ran, we’ve arranged for you to be put in the worst part of the jail. What we call our super-max section, reserved for drug kingpins and killers. It’s a solitary confinement unit and you’re only getting out of your cell one hour every other day, you son of a bitch.”

They walk the man to a cell, unshackle his feet, and shove him in. They release the latch to a small opening in the door and order the man to thrust his hands through the hole so they can remove his cuffs. The deafening noise of the cell door slamming is one the man will never forget. As the guard walks away laughing, he shouts one last insult: “You know the best part, asshole, is you haven’t been to trial, there is no bail, and you have no idea how long you will be in here!”

The man curls up on the bed and descends into a deep depression.


Additional information

Weight 8 oz
Dimensions 9 × 6 × 1 in


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